


Wake up Fitz. Come back to us, Little Bear

by lola381pce



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brain Injury, Coma, Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Medical Inaccuracies, Reference to Doctor Who, Serious medical condition, Symptoms of hypoxic-anoxic injury, Unexpected behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson and what’s left of his rag tag group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have made it to the Playground to meet up with a shattered Simmons and a comatose Fitz. As good as it feels that everyone's together again, it's been a shit way to begin his term as Director.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake up Fitz. Come back to us, Little Bear

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing with this for about a month now, it wouldn't leave me alone. It's finished now...I think.
> 
> As always, the characters belong to Marvel, the rest is me...well being me. Thanks for reading and please feel free to leave comments or kudos or kisses or whatever takes your fancy. I love to hear from you, you keep me going and make me smile and sometimes gobsmack me!

Coulson entered Fitz’s room and stood awkwardly by his bed. He looked so peaceful lying there, even with the abrasions on his face and his arm in plaster, skin pale against the stark white sheets of medical. Peaceful and so young, a little boy, and it broke the older man’s heart knowing how Fitz came to be like this. This wasn’t an accident; he didn’t fall out of a tree when up to boyhood mischief. It was attempted murder by someone he trusted, someone he defended, someone he called friend. And it made Coulson almost blind with rage when he thought about it.

Monitoring equipment hummed and beeped periodically as he stood there watching, thinking. None of this was new to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Director. He’d been in this type of scenario with enough people in his time as a Senior Agent and handler, Barton and Romanoff just happened to be the most prolific in a long line of agents and specialists he’d watched over until they recovered enough to leave or…otherwise,  but this was Fitz for god’s sake! Fitz was a scientist, a gifted engineer who loved Doctor Who and prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwiches with a hint of homemade pesto aioli and monkeys; who invented things and gave them childlike names – the D.W.A.R.F.s, the Golden Retrievers, the Night-Night Gun; who saw the best in people including the man who put him here, right up until the last moment. Fitz wasn’t the type of field agent who had an even chance of becoming injured or even killed while on mission. Jesus! Even when he was in South Ossetia he made Vladimir and Marta fall in love with him; not some character he was playing undercover, _him_. They’d even given him a nickname. Seriously who does that? 

Coulson’s mouth turned down in a thin line and he frowned as he looked at the young Scot. Carefully he reached out his hand and touched his forehead pushing a few stray curls out of the way. “Wake up, Fitz,” he whispered. “Come back to us, Little Bear.”

***

On Coulson’s second visit to the medical bay he didn’t come empty handed. This time he brought the scientist a monkey albeit a stuffed toy. He lifted Fitz’s sheet slightly and tucked the monkey in beside him then covered him again. Once more he rested his hand on the junior agent’s forehead his thumb gently moving those curls away.

“I’ve called him Darwin but when you wake up you can name him whatever you want. Wake up, Fitz. Come back to us, Little Bear.” And he left.

***

Coulson visited Fitz several times a day sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes upwards of an hour. Usually he would wait until there was no-one else around. Not as easy a task as one might think as there seemed to be an unspoken agreement within his team that somebody would be with Fitz as often as possible. Generally it was Simmons or Skye but he knew that May and Tripp looked in on him too. Even Koenig had been spotted leaving the room, more often than not wiping a tear from his eye.

He pulled over a chair and brought it close to Fitz’s head then sat down next to him. Once again he brought something with him and the bag rustled as he opened it.

“Jelly babies,” he told the unconscious agent. “Not sure if you like them or not but I thought with you being fan of The Doctor you might. I liked Tom Baker. Not quite my all time favourite but I liked him. Anyway, just so as you know they won’t be here forever. I’m going to eat one each visit which, being the genius you are, means you’ll know that the longer you take to wake up the less jelly babies there will be. Of course it’s a moot point if you don’t like jelly babies. Meh! I’m willing to risk it. Oh and to wash it down…”

The Director paused with the silence filled by a snap and hiss as a can of soda was opened.  “I found your stash of Irn Bru. Ditto this as with the babies. So the longer you take…” and he took a long gulp of the bright orange liquid before choking and nearly coughing it back out.

“Holy shit, Fitz! That’s fucking horrendous!” He took another swallow then screwed up his face. “Ew, but strangely addictive. Seriously, something that colour has got to be incredibly bad for you. I think I understand why the Canadians banned the import of it. Anyway a threat is useless unless it can be acted upon so, one can per visit.”

He finished the soda in several seemingly torturous gulps going by his facial expression and stood up from the chair to leave and as had become a ritual placed his hand on the Scot’s forehead saying, “Wake up, Fitz. Come back to us, Little Bear.”

***

“So Doctor Who,” Coulson continued as though he’d never been way while he pulled up the chair and sat down. He cracked open a can of Irn Bru and rustled around the jelly baby bag before lifting one out and biting off its legs. “I know I said I liked Tom Baker but my favourite is probably David Tennant. Apart from the fact he has great hair.” He paused and ran a hand through his own and smiled ruefully. “Still he was a damn fine Doctor and I guess I can’t hold that against him. Matt Smith has been pretty good too but personally the stories for him have been hit or miss. Although any of the episodes with River Song definitely fall into the ‘hit’ category; sassy, fearless, mischievous and the way she says “Hello sweetie”. Hmmm. However repeat that to anyone and I’ll deny it.”

“Even with a witness?”

Once again Coulson nearly choked on his soda which would have been a shame as he’d finally managed to stop screwing up his face when he drank it now. He slowly turned round to see Simmons standing behind him with a tired smile on her face. The tops of his ears turned a pretty shade of pink but other than that he didn’t react; the inscrutable Coulson look was firmly planted on his face.

“Good evening, Agent Simmons.”

“Hello sweetie,” she grinned at him her face lighting up with glee at his expression and for a moment the strain lifted from her features.

He looked at her pretending to be completely shocked and then huffed out a laugh happy to see her smile even if it was at his expense “A fine way to speak to your Director. Here,” he said as he stood holding out the chair. “I was just leaving,”

“No. You were talking to Fitz about the virtues of a certain River Song and Doctor Who, which by the way, I had no idea you liked. You didn’t watch any of them with us when Fitz called a ‘Doctor Who’ night.”

He looked down at the ground before returning his gaze to her saying with a sad note to his voice, “I always felt those nights were special to you, Fitz and Skye. I didn’t want to intrude on them.”

Clearly upset she admonished him “The invites were genuine, sir. We would love to have had you there.”

He looked over at Fitz then back at Simmons “It was my loss.”

“Not if you join us for the next one.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a small smile. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head affectionately. “I’ll be there. Remember to get some sleep, Jemma. You look tired.”

“I will, sir.”

He turned back to Fitz and hesitated not wanting to do his leaving ritual with an audience, even if that audience was Jemma, but it had become a thing and he needed to do it. He placed the Jelly Babies and Irn Bru back on the cabinet then gently laid his hand on Fitz’s forehead brushing his thumb over it and softly whispered, “Wake up, Fitz. Come back to us, Little Bear.”

He turned and walked out pretending not to have heard Jemma begin to cry. He stopped outside the door for a few moments fighting to keep his own emotions under control then returned to Fitz’s room taking Jemma in his arms and holding her to him. She gripped him tightly and wept into his shoulder.

***

“Sir, I don’t know what to tell you. Initially he was in a coma but the most recent MRI and CT scans indicate he’s now in a persistent vegetative state; he’s neither in a coma nor responding to external stimuli. He could remain like that indefinitely or come out of it tomorrow. On the plus side the kid’s pupils aren’t fixed or dilated which indicates it’s unlikely his brain stem is damaged and as that area of the brain controls basic functions such as breathing, that’s definitely a good sign. But he could still have problems with ataxia, apraxia, short-term memory loss, decline in executive functions, difficulty with words, visual disturbances and quadriparesis. Look, the guy suffered hypoxic-anoxic injury when his brain was deprived of oxygen under the water. He came to the surface in an uncontrolled ascent. We don’t know how long he…”

“Fitz,” said Jemma quietly from his bedside.

“What?” The doctor rounded on her impatiently.

“Fitz. And it was around 2 minutes 40 seconds.”

The doctor looked at Jemma as though she’d grown two heads then turned to face Coulson again nodding as though ‘ _Get this nutter_.’

Coulson uncurled from his attentive posture – arms crossed over his chest, body slightly hunched forward, head tilted to the side as he listened – to drop his arms by his sides while straightening his spine making himself seem far taller than his actual 5’9”. His blue eyes had turned to ice as he stared at the doctor such with an intense gaze it made him suddenly very afraid. As Coulson spoke his voice was calm, controlled and very chilling, a ‘tell’ that he was now at his most dangerous which the doctor picked up on immediately taking a step back.

“His name is Fitz. Or Leo. Or Leopold. He’s one of the youngest entrants of S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy is one of the first ever to graduate several years early. He is a weapons and technology expert with genius level I.Q. Dr Fitz probably designed some of the equipment you take for granted. He is a very valued member of My Team. He is not ‘the patient’ or ‘the kid’ or some ‘guy’. Your team will refer to him as one of the three options I gave you at all times. In your case I will make an exception. _You_ will refer to him as Dr Fitz whenever you talk to or about him. Do I make myself clear?”

The doctor blanched and tried to say ‘yes’ but his mouth was dry. He nodded instead.

“Dr Simmons, sitting beside him, was the person who saved his life risking her own by dragging him 90ft to the surface after being trapped with him on the ocean floor in an emergency pod for hours on end. She also graduated three years early from S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy holding two PhDs, in biology and chemistry and worked closely with Dr Fitz on that very same equipment. She is also a very valued member of My Team. She will be referred to as Dr Simmons at all times. Do I make myself clear?”

The doctor nodded again.

“Disrespect a member of My Team again, Dr Mason and…” he paused letting the idea of potential outcomes run through Mason’s mind for a few seconds before continuing, “I assure you, you do _not_ want to find out what the consequences will be. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Director,” Mason finally croaked looking as though he was either going to pass out or throw up.

Coulson stared at him for an additional few seconds to reinforce his authority then walked over to Jemma where he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. She patted his hand with her fingers in response and looked up gratefully at him giving him a small smile of thanks. He moved over to Fitz and went through his usual goodbye routine whispering “Wake up, Fitz. Come back to us, Little Bear” before leaving the room, his body almost vibrating with rage.

Right now Coulson needed to hit something and hit something hard. He headed to the gym; the look on his face and his body language forced anyone who was near to give him a wide berth pressing themselves against the wall if it got them out of his way quicker. Koenig watched him leave, taking in the set of the Director’s jaw and shoulders, and immediately went off to find Agent May.

A S.H.E.I.L.D. training instructor was taking three trainees, all vetted and passed by Koenig as evidenced by their lanyards lying on their gear, through their paces when Coulson entered the gym. They jumped when he walked in, subconsciously reacting to the tension that radiated from him in waves.

“Out please,” he told them polite but firm.

“I’m sorry?” the instructor replied slightly taken aback.

Coulson looked at him and the man froze. In a tone that should have brooked no argument he repeated his request, which had now become an order. “Out.”

The instructor, apparently not realising who Coulson was, having been recruited shortly after the Battle of New York, and having arrived when Coulson was off base, evidently felt he had something to prove in front of the recruits going by the way he closed in on the Director. He couldn’t have made a worse decision. Before he knew it he was lying flat on his back with Coulson’s hand wrapped round his throat with him down on one knee beside him. He looked into the man’s face and said slowly, “Out. Now.”

Self-preservation finally kicking in, the man scrambled up and followed the newbies who’d already gathered their belongings and were halfway out the door.

Coulson slipped off his jacket and dropped it over a bench as he passed by. Still walking, he pulled off his tie pausing only to toe off his shoes and remove his socks. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows as he approached the punch bag then slammed it with the heel of his hand, his palm open. The bag shook and bounced on its mounting. Had he used his fist for that first strike he would almost certainly have ended up with ‘boxer’s fracture’. Without pausing he hit the bag again and again and again until the sweat soaked through his shirt and down his face and he could no longer see. He wiped his eyes with his forearm and at that point he could smell a metallic tang in the air. He looked down and his knuckles were raw and bleeding. Shaking, he placed a hand on either side of the bag and leaned his forehead against it taking in huge gulps of air.

“Better?” It was May.

“Not really,” he said after a few moments. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough. Come here.”

He pulled away from the bag and turned and walked over to her. She was straddling a weights bench and he sat the same way facing her. Gently she took his hands in hers and frowned as she saw the damaged he’d inflicted on himself.  Neither of them spoke as she cleaned the wounds, put salve on them then bandaged his hands.

“The doctors are losing hope,” he said quietly his head bowed.

“Are you?”

He hesitated. “No but I feel helpless. And angry. And scared. And today I lost it.”

“Yeah, I saw the guy heading to the rest room. He was walking like it was too late. The recruits couldn’t stop talking about it.”

He ducked his head and looked up at her, the corner of his mouth turned up in a small sad smile. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It does them good to be reminded you’re not just a paper pusher in a suit that sits behind a desk all day.”

“He was kind of a tool,” he conceded and May grinned briefly.

They sat quietly until she cupped his cheek in her hand and rested her forehead against his. “Don’t give up on Fitz. He could surprise us yet.”

Keeping his head against hers, he nodded in agreement.

“Now go and get changed. Seriously, Phil, only you would work out in a suit.”

***

Coulson dropped his phone and ran from his office to medical at full pelt. He stopped just outside the door and took in the scene before him. Fitz was half kneeling / half lying in the corner, his broken arm tight against his chest with Darwin cradled behind it, his right hand was shaking while holding a pair of ligature scissors in front of him slicing at anyone who went near him. Medical equipment and monitors had been upended and were scattered all over the floor. The medical staff were trying to reason with the terrified engineer but he was screaming at them, tears running down his face. May was holding onto an equally petrified Simmons whose face was buried in the senior agent’s shoulder as she sobbed. At that point Skye and Trip came running round the corner drawing to a stop behind Coulson.

He gestured for them to remain where they were and entered the room placing his hands on May’s shoulders. She looked at him, concern etched on her face and nodded as he indicated they should leave by jutting his chin towards the door. She gently pulled Simmons along with her murmuring softly into her hair. Falling into the relaxed and composed persona he’d used on many occasions to contain tense situations he spoke calmly to the medical staff ordering them out of the room. As one they obeyed without question sliding the door closed behind them leaving the two of them alone. The wall facing the nurses counter was made of glass and everyone could see in to the room, Coulson was tempted to shut the blinds, but after a few seconds consideration he felt it might be better for all if they could watch what was going on.

Coulson didn’t speak and didn’t attempt to approach Fitz, merely stood at the edge of the bed with his hands relaxed by his sides waiting for the Scot to calm down. He gave a small smile when he saw the monkey he’d given him tucked behind the cast of his broken arm. Fitz looked down at it then back to Coulson however still clearly agitated he kept the ligature scissors in front of him waiting for the older man to make a grab at him as the doctor had done. Still Coulson did nothing, just stood quietly letting the engineer realise he wasn’t a threat and allowing him the freedom to settle in his own time. Slowly Fitz’s tears stopped, his breathing became less laboured and the scissors wavered in his hand as the adrenaline coursing through him began to diminish leaving him drained and exhausted.

Coulson lifted the seat that had been turned over on its side and set it back on its legs. He sat down and continued to watch Fitz keeping his expression and body carefully neutral and as non-threatening as possible. Fitz’s eyes darted to the bed then back to Coulson then to the glass panelled wall where the others were standing watching and back to Coulson again.

“Would you like to sit on the bed?” he asked gently.

Fitz frowned. He looked at the bed then down at his legs as if commanding them to work, then back to Coulson when nothing happened. He nodded.

“Would you like me to help you?”

He shook his head again and tried to push himself up but with his broken arm, the monkey and the scissors he couldn’t quite figure out to do it. He looked helplessly at Coulson again. Coulson did nothing wanting, no _needing_ , to see if Fitz could work it out for himself. Thinking clinically, it would give him an idea of the engineer’s cognitive abilities and something he could report back to the medical team even if it did wrench his heart to see Fitz like this.

Again Fitz tried but couldn’t manage. Finally he put the ligature scissors down which allowed him to pull himself onto his knees. He picked up the scissors again and tried to pull himself forward but the point got perilously close to his wrist and nicked him. Fitz cried out and dropped the scissors looking at Coulson, tears welling up in his eyes from frustration rather than pain. Coulson had to swallow a lump in his throat and force himself to remain seated instead of jumping up and going to Fitz’s aid as his instincts shouted for him to do. Fitz sniffled trying not to cry and held up his good arm towards the Director in a childlike request for ‘pick me up’. It worried him that Fitz wasn’t attempting to communicate verbally. Could he?

Calmly Coulson once again asked, “Do you want me to help you?”

He nodded.

“Then ask me, Fitz.”

Fitz frowned at him for a second his face muscles changing as though he was trying to say something before his look turned to one of frustration and he screamed picking up the ligature scissors again pointing them at Coulson. Coulson didn’t as much as flinch, just sat there impassively.

“Do you still want me to help you?”

Fitz glared at him and then eventually nodded his breath hitching as he tried to hold his emotions in check. Coulson carefully stood up from his seat and slowly walked to the young man kneeling on the floor. When he was at an arm’s length away from him he crouched down and held out his hand for the scissors. Fitz looked at them then at Coulson and placed them into his palm. Coulson slid them across the floor out of harm’s way then gently picked the scientist up holding him to his side careful not to hurt his injured arm. It appeared Fitz had no strength in his legs as they immediately folded beneath him but Coulson held him upright for a few seconds then scooped him up into his arms before laying him on the bed tucking the bedcovers round him.  Fitz held the monkey close trying not to cry at his own helplessness.

Coulson reached over to one of the few upright equipment trays and lifted some antiseptic wipes and sterile gauze dressings.

“May I sit down?”

Fitz nodded and Coulson sat on the bed facing him. He held out his hand to Fitz who looked down at the bandages on the Director’s own hands. Coulson smiled. “We’re a fine pair,” he said without moving. After a moment’s hesitation Fitz put his hand in Coulson’s who expertly cleaned and dressed the wound on Fitz’s wrist. As he worked he began to ask questions.

“Do you know who you are?”

Fitz nodded wiping his red-rimmed eyes with the fingers of his broken hand.

“Do you know who I am?”

He stared at Coulson as though trying to remember and although there may have been a slight glimmer of recognition in his eyes for a few seconds, he shook his head dropping it onto his chest in defeat. A fraction later he looked up as his eyes caught sight of the monkey. With a bright smile he held Darwin up and pointed the toy monkey at Coulson.  He also looked to his bedside table spotting the bag of Jelly Babies and nodded to Coulson again.

He looked at the young man with encouragement a gentle grin slowly spreading across his face making his brilliant blue eyes sparkle for the first time in weeks. “That’s right, Fitz. Did you hear me speaking to you?”

Fitz nodded again. Okay, now Coulson didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed. Of course he was well aware that coma patients could most likely hear while unconscious and respond to sounds and smells but some of the things he talked about to Fitz were fairly off the wall especially the whole Jelly Baby, Irn Bru, Doctor Who monologues not to mention the more ridiculous Strike Team Delta missions or some of the wilder nights out with Hill and Sitwell or the ones where the three of them were accompanied by Fury, Barton and Romanoff; oh shit particularly not those ones!

“Okay, Fitz. That’s good…I think,” and he smiled. “Maybe we’ll keep some of that between you and me. How does that feel?” he asked as he finished taking care of Fitz’s wound.

Fitz looked down at his wrist clenching his hand into a fist and relaxing it again. He nodded and then, out of nowhere, he spoke his first word since being at the bottom of the ocean.

“J…Jemma?” His voice was hoarse from lack of use and the earlier screaming. Coulson picked up the plastic beaker with water and a straw on the bedside cabinet and held it to his lips.

“You remember Jemma?” he asked as Fitz took a sip.

Fitz pulled away from the straw, resting back against the pillows and nodded. He smiled sadly looking out to the hallway where she and the others were congregated. The group was standing further back now trying to give the Director and the engineer a little more privacy but they couldn’t look away or turn their backs completely. All except Jemma who remained in May’s embrace face tucked into her shoulder; watching Coulson lift Fitz onto the bed had broken her heart. She didn’t see the wistful look on his face as he stared her through the glass wall.

“Jemma…my find.”

“Your find?”

Fitz frowned at Coulson wondering why he appeared to be confused. “Jemma…Academy find.”

Find? Friend? Dr Mason had mentioned anomia, difficulty with words. Another possible symptom to pass on Coulson noted.

“Good Fitz. She’ll be pleased to know that. Do you know the others with her?”

Fitz looked at them but there appeared to be nothing. The engineer looked exhausted and Coulson didn’t have the heart to push any more.

“How about I let you get some rest for a while? Would you like someone to come and sit with you?” The engineer shot a panicked look towards the nurses’ station. Coulson followed his gaze and his eyes found Dr Mason who had worked his way to front of the group and was staring in at them.

“Not the doctor,” he agreed as he seethed inside at the young man’s apparent fear of the senior medic; Mason and he were going to have a long talk in his immediate future. “But someone else perhaps?”

“Jemma?” he asked hopefully as he rubbed his eyes with his freshly bandaged hand, once again reminding Coulson of a small boy who was tired and afraid and didn’t quite understand what was going on round about him.

“I think she’d like that, Fitz.” Coulson stood and placed his hand on Fitz’s shoulder to reassure him. He didn’t tell him everything was going to be okay because he honestly didn’t know. But he did give him some measure of comfort that there were people who cared about him and who weren’t going to leave him. Fitz caught his hand as he pulled away and laid it on his forehead.

Coulson bit his lip holding back his emotions which were threatening to spill over. He rubbed a few stray curls with his thumb. “Welcome back, Little Bear.”

**Author's Note:**

> Source of information on hypoxic-anoxic injury comes from Family Caregiver Alliance website www.caregiver.org
> 
> Some common physical deficits are:  
> • Ataxia, or a lack of coordination. This often expresses itself as a sort of bobbing or weaving, similar to what is seen in people who are drunk.  
> • Apraxia, or an inability to execute a familiar sequence of physical movements such as brushing teeth, combing hair, using eating utensils, etc.  
> • Spasticity, rigidity and myoclonus, disorders which can include a tendency toward jerky motions, trembling of the extremities, or other abnormal movements.  
> • Quadriparesis, a weakness of the arms and legs.  
> • Short-term memory loss. This is the most common cognitive symptom, especially among those who have HII. The reason is that the part of the brain that is believed to be responsible for learning new information, called the hippocampus, has neurons that are highly sensitive to oxygen deprivation.  
> • Decline in executive functions. Disruption of such critical tasks as reasoning, making judgments, and synthesizing information. This can lead to impulsive behaviour, poor decision-making, inability to direct, divide, or switch attention.  
> • Difficulty with words, also known as anomia. These linguistic problems include not being able to remember the right word, selecting the wrong word, confusing similar words, not understanding commonly used words, and so on.  
> • Visual disturbances. Difficulty processing visual information can occur in some cases. One rare disorder is called cortical blindness, in which the area of the brain responsible for vision becomes disconnected from the rest of the brain. Because the brain cannot tell that this part is damaged, people may appear to act as though they can see even though they display no ability to identify or recognize objects, shapes or colours.


End file.
